


Fiachra- The Witch's Wheel of the Year (taster)

by DreadArtemis



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Asexuality Spectrum, Canon Gay Relationship, Canon Lesbian Relationship, College, Dorks, Elf Culture & Customs, Elves, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Fantasy, Gay, M/M, Magic, Magical Realism, Murder, Romance, Swords, Swords & Sorcery, Twins, Urban Fantasy, Vampires, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 15:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30091197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreadArtemis/pseuds/DreadArtemis
Summary: “This is MOST unorthodox," Fearghas murmured.“Dude, tell me about it. I mean, there's an elf in our house asking me to save all of Lancashire from certain doom," replied Fiachra. “What's that all about?"Fiachra is a witch, a twin, a college student and a bit of a dork.His life's going as normally as could be expected for an eccentric living on the outskirts of Bolton, but then things start to happen involving elves, Russians, vampires, nature spirits, murders and weird transmogrifications.What happens to him at night?What's up with his gay genius brother's burgeoning love life?And will he ever get away with dancing naked round a bonfire?[This is a sample of the first few chapters.]
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 2





	1. Protevangelium

#  _ Prologue _

The week before the tall man started trying to kill him, he didn't have a clue what was coming. When everything started, in fact, it was just a normal night at the end of the holidays.

He knelt quietly within a circle of runestones, a white pillar candle burning almost silently at each quarter, North, South, East and West. The candlelight sputtered and flickered, casting a yellow glow on the pale, smooth skin of his face. He breathed deep the perfumed incense that drifted gently through the air, dancing spirals of smoke that softly faded into nothing. His black hair fell unkempt over his face, the ends brushing against his shoulders. Eyes closed, hands laid with palms flat upon his lap, he knelt in meditation, communing with that which permeates all things.

This is Fiachra. He's a witch, and this is what happened to him.

->^<-

##  _ Rune 1: Protevangelium _

~A first revelation~

Contrary to his usual preference, he was wearing clothes this time. As much as he felt comfortable in his body, being naked also had a sense of vulnerability attached to it. Moreover, the living room didn't feel particularly private with its large window and being so close to the front door, but it was spacious and with the net curtains pulled back, he had a view of the moon that just wasn't possible from the bedroom. He'd have gone out in the garden but it was much too cold outside.

Still, the thought of being spotted wasn't his main deterrent; he wasn't expecting anyone for a while and it was dark. All things considered, if it weren't for the unaccountable anxiety he was feeling, he'd much rather be in the nuddy.

->^<-

Hooded and cloaked in a rough, dull fabric, something rushed frantically, melting into the shadows of the night. Pale fingers, deceptively slender, clasped the edge of the hood to keep it in place. Breath came fast and shallow, blooming into faint clouds in the cold air. Without warning, an object thudded into the branch of a tree just as he rushed past. An arrow, most likely, or a catapulted rock. He gasped and tried to run faster. His throat burned. They were gaining on him.

->^<-

It was late of a full moon night, quiet out, with the crisp taste of early winter in the air. Fiachra's parents had gone to the folk club to enjoy some musical entertainment, as was their habit on Friday nights, and his twin brother was at his karate club. Fiachra was alone in the moderately-sized semidetached house. They had their clubs, he had this. He brushed his fingers up the length of the ritual knife's blade in mesmerised exaltation.

->^<-

He almost stumbled a few times on the uneven muddy ground but managed to keep his feet, driven on by sheer desperation. If they caught him it was all over. Pain tore through his hand as an arrow grazed it and he grit his teeth and tried to smother a cry. Dark blood spilled across his white fingers. He darted to the side, weaving through the trees.

->^<-

Taking advantage of the convenient solitude afforded to him that evening, Fiachra had decided to perform a simple ritual in celebration of the Esbat; he was feeling lazy. After pushing the coffee table to the side as far as possible, he had arranged his accoutrements and made himself comfortable on the living-room floor. He laid the knife down in front of him and picked up the box of cards. He'd been dabbling with the tarot lately, doing some reading on the subject. The symbolism appealed to him and he liked how the cards felt in his hands. He tipped the cards out and shuffled them absently before picking a single card from the middle of the pack. He turned it over. The Fool. The zeroth card. He studied it for a moment.

"What does this mean?" he murmured to himself, reaching to check a reference book. His accent was Bolton with some Manchester, some Liverpool and some attempt at eloquence mixed in. "A leap of faith? Listening to my instincts? Upheaval? Something beginning? I suppose I should have had a specific question in mind."

He frowned, unsure, as he discarded the rest of the deck. A shadow moved behind him. He turned quickly, chest tight from startlement, but nothing was there. His eyes scanned the room nervously for a moment.

"Gods, I'm such a.." He looked back at the tarot card in his hand and puffed out a small laugh.

->^<-

The hooded figure waited behind the shelter on the deserted train station platform, hardly daring to breathe. Somehow he'd lost his pursuers, or so he hoped. He'd wait a little longer.

->^<-

Taking a deep breath, he sat, staring into the fire of a candle flame, sometimes attempting to meditate, sometimes shifting around uncomfortably as his feet went to sleep.

Removing the lid from a small box, he took from it a few dried Lavender flowers and sprinkled them into the candle flame in front of him. The flame flickered slightly and the flowers began to scorch and hiss, turning brown and sinking, dilatory, into the pool of melted wax. As he concentrated trance-like on the incandescence he began gently to chant under his breath.

"Isis, Astarte, Diana, Hecate, Demeter, Kali, Inanna.. Isis, Astarte, Diana, Hecate, Demeter, Kali, Inanna.."

->^<-

This was it. This had to be it. Moving through the dark almost imperceptibly, he skirted around the side of the house. There- an open window, a chance. He spotted a box by the fence and pulled it across to step up on.

->^<-

Idly prodding the softened candle wax with the end of a used incense stick he accidentally passed a finger over the flame and found it singed by the heat

"Ow!" exclaimed Fiachra. He reflexively yanked his arm back, then put the finger in question into his mouth and sucked on it. He'd managed to let go of the stick in the process and it dropped onto the carpet, setting it alight.

"GAAHH!" he yelped, scrambling to grab something with which to stifle the small flame. A small scorch-mark was left, but luckily it was on a dark part of the pattern so wouldn't be noticeable.

Sighing, he glanced at the clock on the mantlepiece. He'd been at it a while now, his brother would be home soon. He supposed now was as good a time as any to finish off. His burnt finger and the carpet had spoiled the mood somewhat, and anyway, he found he couldn't concentrate properly. Something just kept niggling at him, and he couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was. He just felt on edge. He partook of his 'simple feast' of shortbread and orange juice, then thanking the symbolistic Gods and Elemental Spirits for their attendance, broke the circle.

After quenching the candles Fiachra crouched down to collect the runes that had formed the circle when a strange feeling came upon him, a sense that he was no longer alone. He turned his head to look around the room. It was then that he saw him. A child stood in front of the door. Fiachra jumped back with shock, swearing. No.. it was a man. He smiled at Fiachra. He was reasonably short in stature with long blond hair. Even though this was a stranger in his house, Fiachra seemed to recover quickly from his initial surprise and thought to himself that the man did not seem threatening and his bearing had an air of nobility about it. There was a bizarre sort of instant affinity, maybe. Then he noticed the ears. The man's ears were abnormally long and came to a point at the tips. This was no man after all. Fiachra's eyes widened. He also saw that his clothes were unusual- tight leather pants and a pearly singlet with patterned lilac sleeves. He wore tall green boots and wrist-guards. A dark coat or cape was draped over one arm. His hand was bloody.

"At last, I have found you.." he breathed in a voice that was soft yet crackly, as if he had a sore throat. His purple eyes shone, fixed on the blue of Fiachra's.

Fiachra tried to find his voice with which to ask the creature who he was and why he came to be in his living room at this time without leave to be there, but only managed a choked whisper of one word.

"Who..?"

The being moved forward.

"Time is running out. I know he is planning something," he said.

"Are you a LARPer?" Fiachra mewled, befuddled.

He lifted his hand to gently press his palm to Fiachra's forehead. Fiachra stood confusedly frozen to the spot, then he began to see strange swirling lights and colours in front of his eyes. Then the colours began to fade, his eyes grew heavy and he slumped backwards, insensible. Fiachra slid towards the ground and the fey man caught him, laying him softly down and brushing the strands of ebony hair from his face.

"I must go. Be strong, I will return for you when you are ready. Before that, if I can," he whispered confidentially to Fiachra's unconscious face.

->^<-

Fiachra dazedly opened his eyes, murmuring incoherently. Not quite remembering where he was, he sat up and scratched his head. Then he noticed that his hair was on the floor. He jumped up, seeing that a large patch of his hair had suddenly and unaccountably grown to 6 or 7 feet in length, and was dragging on the floor like the train of a wedding dress. Groping at the back of his head, he confirmed that it was indeed attached. He tried to remain calm.

"Well, this is fairly unusual," he commented.

Turning to the mirror to inspect the odd occurrence, he was astonished to see that his ears had developed points and he appeared to now have a pair of fangs. He stood agape for a while, prodded at the pointed teeth with the tip of his tongue, then commenced to run around like the proverbial blue-arsed fly, screeching mild obscenities. He trod on the hair and stumbled, landing painfully on one knee.

Behind him, his candles still stood, the flames extinguished. All at once, there was an unexplained flicker of a spark on the wick of the Western candle, which subsequently burst back into flame. At this point, Fiachra noticed the strange activity and stared in a bemused fashion. The flame flared suddenly to a large size and a mist steadily appeared around the candle, growing and swirling as the flame died back down. A blue glow filled the air and the mist lit up with a plethora of tiny lights. From the twinkling and shimmering little stars, like tuning a television, an image began to settle into existence; an image that was becoming real.

The fey woman that appeared had long, wavy hair in hues of turquoise and wore a strapless, ruffled dress of finest pale blue silk. Her ears were exceptionally long and pointed, and her feet.. they were really something. They seemed more like flippers than feet, webbed, like 2 long fish tails.

As her form became solid and she stepped onto the floor of the room, the mist and flame faded away. She opened her eyes and gazed at Fiachra, who had backed up against the wall, his eyes bulging.

He raised his finger to point at the creature.

"What ARE you?!" he hissed.

She put one hand on her hip and the other to her chest, indicating herself in an exaggerated way.

"I am the Guardian of the Watchtower of the West- the Creature of Water," she declared dramatically.

"O..kay," said Fiachra, confused. "So, what are you doing here, in a.. physical body?"

She thought for a second.

"Dunno, Help you out with the whole being-a-weird-whatever-you-are thing, I guess. I was asked. Summoned. Evoked."

Fiachra nodded slowly. He pointed to her flippers.

"What's up with the feet?" he said.

"SHUT IT, FANG-FACE!"

A short time later, Fiachra and the water spirit were sat comfortably on the couch. Fiachra was almost beginning to get used to being shocked by things tonight, but not quite. He found this all very, very strange and still felt not a little unsettled.

"So, what am I s'posed to call you?" he asked.

"Meh, beats the crap outta me," she replied with a shrug.

"What?! You don't even have a name?"

"Nope. I never manifested in a form like _this_ before!" she smiled.

Fiachra raised his index finger in a matter of fact sort of way, signalling his transition into 'I'm clever' mode.

"Then I shall use my astounding knowledge of mythology to pick a suitable one. Hmm, let's see.." He stroked a nonexistent beard in ponderment. "How about 'Amphitrite'? That's a name connected with water."

She pulled a face. "You what?! That's way too long!"

"Oh. You reckon? What about Scylla?"

"Don't get clever, brat!"

"Well.. how about just.. Naiad?"

She thought about it. "Naiad, _Naiad_ , **Naiad**.." she repeated, trying it out. She smiled. "Yes, okay! Naiad it is. And your name is?"

"I'm Fiachra," he grinned.

"Funny name."

"It's Irish!" he said defensively.

"I see."

He looked her over, mildly.

"Do you eat?" he asked.

"I CAN eat. It's not necessary though."

"Oh."

"..." Fiachra prodded at his fangs, suddenly concerned about how they'd affect his day-to-day life.

"Don't worry," said Naiad. "the fangs and ears will disappear during the day, unless you want them for something."

"How do you know that?" he asked.

"I'm the incarnation of water, duh! I'm a part of EVERYTHING. I'm very in tune with the web of Wyrd, don'tcha know."

"So the fangs and ears will have gone by morning?"

"Yes."

"But if I want them I can bring them back?"

"Potentially."

"But they'll come back at night and I won't be able to get rid of them?"

"Yes. For a while at least, until you get used to controlling it."

"Right. Well, I suppose that's not too bad. Hey, what do you know about that blond dude? I swear, he scared me half to death."

"You're frightened of an Elf, and you call yourself Wiccan?" smarmed Naiad.

"Well, no, actually I'm more of an eclectic pantheistic solitary witch.. and a lazy one at that. Anyway, that's got nowt to do with it, he was in my HOUSE! He ZAPPED me! Look at me, I have pointy ears!"

"So do I."

"That's not the point! _I'm_ not supposed to!" he squeaked.

"Maybe you are."

"What do you mean maybe I..!" He was interrupted by a knock at the front door. He gasped. "Oh no! What do I do now?! I can't answer the door like this!"

"Wear a hat?" offered Naiad.

"Yes! Great idea!" he beamed. "Except I only have this flat cap.."

Fiachra poked his head around the door, nearly getting the tweedy flat cap wedged between it and the doorframe in his efforts to keep the door from opening wide enough so that any of his new attributes could be seen.

"Hello?"

The same blue eyes looked back at him from behind rectangular glasses, wreathed with the same black hair, albeit cut in a slightly different style, the face almost a perfect reflection of his own. Fearghas, his twin, stood in the porch, arms folded and looking annoyed.

"What took you so long? I forgot my keys. Let me in," he demanded.

Fiachra let out a relieved breath, relaxing. He grinned and swung the door open wide, forgetting himself in front of his brother.

"Fearghas! Hey bro'!"

"What's with the hat?" asked Fearghas, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

He looked up at the cap he was wearing. "Erm.."

Fearghas pointed at Fiachra's teeth. "Are those fangs?"

He laughed nervously and began to sweat. "Erm.. They're fake," he ventured.

Fearghas grasped a handful of his newly long hair and rubbed it between his fingers with interest.

"Good grief, Fiachra! Your hair has suddenly grown by several feet!" he exclaimed.

"AAH! GET IN HERE!" Fiachra jumped and grabbed him, dragging him bodily into the house. He hoped none of the people on the street outside had heard his brother's ejaculation. Things tended to echo across the road, sound bouncing off the houses opposite. The quiet streets of Kearsley.. It was a small town, classed as an urban district under the metropolitan borough of Bolton and to be found on the south-easterly outskirts thereof. Fiachra called it the backwaters of nowhere, but was fond of it nonetheless, being as it was the only home he'd ever known. It was out of the way and, on the whole, pretty quiet apart from the occasional screaming child or suspicious band of roving youths. As long as you were mindful of home security, it wasn't a bad place to live really.

Fiachra closed the door hurriedly, then realised he still had a grip on Fearghas's wrist and Fearghas was not happy about it. He scowled at Fiachra, his nose wrinkled angrily.

"Let go of me, Fiachra," he growled.

Fiachra flung his hands up and backed off, grinning nervously. "So, what's up, Fungus?"

Fearghas really didn't like stupid nicknames.

"Shut up, you idiot! What happened to your.." Fearghas stopped and gasped, eyes wide with shock. He had seen Naiad. She had wandered out into the hall to see what was taking so long. She grinned and waved to Fearghas.

"Oh," said Fiachra. "Look, I'll explain."

"Yes, do," breathed Fearghas.

->^<-

The blond elf quickly skipped down the stone stairs, hoping that he hadn't been seen, and strode in the direction of the great hall. His footsteps echoed around the large space of the chamber. He turned the corner and came upon the black-haired general. It was the last person he'd wanted to be seen by in this area of the city. The taller elf leaned arrogantly against a column and gave him the gimlet eye. Feeling hunted and self-conscious, he nodded in salute. The general scoffed at him, snorting in contempt, then threw his cloak out behind him and stomped off.

->^<-

The twins slouched side by side on the couch while Naiad sat primly on the chair to their left. Fearghas had been told everything that had happened and was pondering events with his sharp scientific mind.

"Incredible," he mused. "This is unfounded in the realms of science." He pulled Fiachra's hair curiously.

"Ow!"

"Amazing."

Fiachra pouted and rubbed his hairsore head. "Hey, wait, I just thought of something."

"It's a miracle!" mocked the other boy, with a wry smile.

"I'm serious! What are Mum and Dad gonna say when they see Naiad?!"

"Oh, don't worry about that. I can disappear," she said. "I'll just turn myself into water and sit in a bowl in your room or whatever."

"You can do that?"

"Yep."

"Living in our room? Don't you think that's a bit weird?!" he shrieked.

"No. Why would it be?" she laughed.

"Well, because.. er.. you're a.." he frowned.

"No, I'm not," she said.

"Speaking of the parental units," said Fearghas, "they'll be getting back imminently. We should get upstairs."

"Yeah, probably. It is getting late and I don't want to be seen like this!" answered Fiachra, getting up and making his way out of the room and to the stairs. The others followed.

"I hope you've got me a nice bowl, bat face. I'm not going to sit in anything that isn't tasteful."

Soon afterwards, after cack-handedly cutting the superlength hair from his head, he watched in amazement as the offcuts disintegrated in his hands and disappeared, shimmering, into the air, leaving not a single trace. Fearghas looked on in a daze.

"I wouldn't have believed any of this," he said. "if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. I'm still not sure I believe it."

"You think you've got it bad? How do you suppose I feel?" Fiachra said, feeling sorry for himself.

"Come off it, I know exactly how you feel. Twins, remember?"

"I didn't think you believed in all that twin-telepathy stuff."

"I'm an open-minded skeptic. There are moments when I wonder. Besides, there's something about seeing an elemental being appear out of nowhere, then transmogrify into a bowl of water that makes you begin to doubt your basic assumptions about a lot of things."

Fiachra couldn't sleep. He was too wired, too weirded out. He crept down the ladder of the bunk bed and padded over to the window, opening it and leaning out into the cool night. A large blue ceramic bowl sat on the chest of drawers, filled with water shimmering in the moonlight. His mind was racing and wouldn't shut up. His thoughts were a mess.

'Who was that elf guy?' he wondered. 'Is Naiad really..? Just what in the hell is going on?'

He stood there for hours, until the sky started to get lighter again and the birds were beginning to chirp. Without his notice, his ears and teeth slowly returned to normal.


	2. Phantasmagoria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a sample of the first few chapters. If you enjoy it, you can find the full thing here: https://www.lulu.com/spotlight/artemisarrow

##  _ Rune 2: Phantasmagoria _

~A series of phantasms or illusions, a shifting scene of many elements~

Wednesday came, and brought with it the start of a new term at college for the twins. Having spent the past few nights in hiding from his parents, hacking the huge lengths of hair from his head, Fiachra was starting to get used to his nocturnal transmogrification to some extent. He worried about their mum and dad finding out. He also knew that Fearghas would quickly grow annoyed at having to fetch him things as he lay low in his bedroom refuge. Naiad had taken her corporeal form again once or twice in order to snoop around the boys' bedroom, mostly to peruse the contents of the bookshelves- she was interested in drama, it seemed.

The common room of Brambleclough Sixth Form College was full of the hustle and bustle that the boys had come to expect of a morning, except with perhaps a little more hustle than usual. There was a barely noticeable frisson in the atmosphere. At length, a rumour reached them that there were foreign exchange students arriving today. There were differences of opinion concerning the nationality of these students, and suggestions included German, Greek or even Ukrainian. It was obvious that nobody really knew.

The bell rang signalling the beginning of that seemingly useless period of time known officially as registration but usually referred to as form. When the boys fought their way through the crowd in an attempt to reach the stairs without being asphyxiated, and failed, they figured they might as well sit down until the bulk of the students had gone. Fearghas happened to glance to the side and catch a momentary glimpse of an orange T-shirt. This in itself was wholly unremarkable, yet its value as something interesting was increased when he noticed the writing emblazoned across the chest- it was Cyrillic.

"Russian?.." he murmured. It might not mean anything, of course, he'd seen people he knew in shirts with Japanese writing on, the meaning of which they had no idea about. But this seemed very deliberate and direct; he didn't think it was just a fashionable pattern.

Fearghas was proved correct in form, when their form teacher, Miss Birman read out a notice to the effect that the foreign exchange students were indeed from Russia, and that every effort should be made to make them feel welcome. There were no new faces, so evidently none of the exchange students had been assigned to their form.

Miss Birman was a confident, raven-haired woman of around 35 years of age, fond of the colour red and with piercing blue eyes which sparkled mischievously when she grinned. She chatted jokingly with the students of form Thirteen-Three in her loud and slightly husky voice, seeming more like an older friend than a teacher- in fact, she could be downright crass at times and after the register had been taken she was generally happy for the students in her form to do as they pleased.

A ginger-haired lad wearing a brightly coloured kaftan sauntered slowly up to the boys' desk.

"Hey, O'Conall twins, did you know that cherry bakewells are God?" he said mystically.

"Oh no you don't, Zen," said Fiachra. "Last time I got into a conversation with you about the divinity of cake you shoved one into my face, screaming 'Eat the effing cake!'. It took me 2 days to get the icing out of my hair!"

"Exactly! Don't you see?!" replied Zen.

"No. You make my head hurt," said Fiachra. "What, with your oxymorons and your koans and your backwards ice-skating Finlanders."

"What?" asked Fearghas, not getting most of those references.

"Oh, don't ask. Please."

"How do you come up with these things?" asked Fearghas of Zen.

"THREE TONS OF FLAX!" shouted Zen, triumphantly. Fiachra pulled a bemused face and crossed his eyes as Zen walked away.

Fiachra had General Studies as an unremarkable first lesson. At the moment they were doing French, which he was adequate in, but nowhere near as fluent as his brother, who had a gift for languages- especially more exotic ones. At the same time, Fearghas was in a Physics lesson, taught by a rather eccentric young teacher by the name of Mr Peartree. Fearghas twirled his pen around his fingers and looked forward at the entirely black-clad 'corporate goth'. Gabriel Peartree was in his early twenties with shoulder-length dark, curly hair and carefully trimmed and shaped facial hair. With his fondness for Norwegian death metal music and silly web animations, and his tales of his time at university spent being abused by items of furniture after drinking large amounts of absinthe, his class were laughing themselves silly most of the time and seemingly learning very little. In any case they found the lessons enjoyable. Fearghas thought the endless formulae and calculations rather tedious, yet was enjoying discussing the principles of what they termed 'quantum weirdness' and the more theoretical topics.

A stuffed badger (the class mascot) flew over his head as he scanned his small group of classmates. The class's star pupil was a lad known to all as 'Flux Martin', the reason for this being that facts just seemed to _flow_ into his head. Fearghas had asked a fellow classmate, back when he'd started in the class, whether Martin was his surname or his first name. Her answer had been "No-one knows.."

It had turned out she was lying in the end.

->^<-

Second period saw Fiachra spending his 'study period' doing nothing that even vaguely resembled studying in any way. Fearghas, however, made his way to the downstairs science labs for his Biology lesson.

Taught jointly between the mild-mannered Mrs Stamford and the athletic Miss Hampton, Biology seemed to be Fearghas's favourite subject. The class worked hard but they all enjoyed a good joke- Fearghas smirked as he remembered April fools' day when Miss Hampton had popped out of the room for a minute or two in order to photocopy some worksheets and the whole class had hidden under the desks at the back, so she returned to a seemingly deserted classroom. She had found them easily enough, but it was still hilarious.

They had been in class for about 10 minutes when there was a knock at the door. Mrs Stamford opened it to admit a slim woman with bobbed blonde hair, followed by a group of three students. Mrs Stamford introduced the woman as Valentina Komarova, a teacher from the Russian school. Fearghas looked at the Russian students with interest and was slightly surprised when his gaze fell upon the same orange T-shirt he had seen that morning. The lad wearing it was slender and whippet-like with long, scraggy, blond hair tied back in a ponytail, and pale turquoise-blue eyes which sat behind a pair of gold-rimmed circular glasses. He wore black cropped trousers, bright yellow trainers and a nervous expression. As the exchange students were given places to sit and Mrs Stamford continued teaching, Fearghas was forced to turn his attention back to the lesson, but his glance jumped back to the boy in the orange T-shirt now and again. Something about the lad fascinated him somehow..

->^<-

Meeting in the common room for break, the twins simply sat on the plush red chairs and lazed around, speaking of trivial things and partaking of chocolate bars. For a short while, Fiachra sat wondering about the blond person who knocked him out.

"I'm not sure if I dreamt it or not, but I vaguely remember him mentioning being ready for something. I wonder what he was talking about. If he did say it," he mused.

"I haven't the foggiest. Maybe he'll come back and explain," Fearghas replied, a little annoyed at not having the requisite knowledge.

Third lesson was a study period (known amongst the work-allergic students as 'frees') for both boys, and being directly before the dinner hour, Fiachra decided to wander down to the cafeteria and get an early lunch. Fearghas, however, felt he would like to go to the college library and do some homework, thus freeing up his night for more interesting pastimes- like world domination, he said. Fiachra agreed to meet him outside the library later, and they parted company.

Fearghas stepped through the double doors onto the regulation grey nylon carpet of the library. It was all but deserted at this time, there being only about three people in there. There may have been one or two people on the balconies using the computers as well but Fearghas wasn't looking. He just appreciated the quiet. He took up his usual spot on the table in the corner, next to the window and began to unpack his books.

He was just over half way through the simple exercise when he chanced to glance up at the balcony opposite. A girl had come down the stairs a minute earlier and taken her leave, now there was only one person up there. It was the lad in the orange T-shirt. Fearghas raised his eyebrows slightly at the coincidence of seeing him yet again. Suddenly feeling an urge to go up there and introduce himself, he looked back at his work, making a bargain with himself- if the boy was still there when he had finished, he'd nip up and at least say hello, after all, why not? They were in the same class. It was a perfectly normal sort of thing to do, to make acquaintance with one's classmates. Wasn't it? Yes. Of course it was.

Time passed. Fearghas wrote in the final answer and proceeded to pack his things away again. Sure enough, the Russian boy was still up there, typing furiously. Fearghas slung his bag over his shoulder, took a deep breath and strode towards the stairs.

"Izvinitye." (Excuse me.)

The boy spun around with a sharp intake of breath and asked:

"Vy govoritye po-Russki?" (You speak Russian?) He clearly hadn't expected to be addressed in his native language.

"Da, nemnogo, ne ochen horosho," (Yes, a little. Not very well,) answered Fearghas. Offering his hand, he introduced himself. "Menya zavut Fearghas." (My name is Fearghas.)

The boy shook his hand, smiling.

"Borislav," he said, indicating himself.

"Borislav," repeated Fearghas, in the hope that it would help him remember it better. "We're in the same Biology class, aren't we?.."

He felt like his stomach had done a triple somersault. It was just because he wasn't good with meeting new people, he thought.

The librarian shushed them from somewhere below.

Later on, at dinnertime, the twins sat in the common room again, looking more than a little annoyed. Someone had decided they wanted to use the common room's sound system to play mind-numbingly awful rap music at blaringly loud, ground-shaking volume. The boys knew that any objection was likely to get them involved in a fight, or at least a slanging match, so they left it alone, content to rant about it between themselves.

"Why do they make us listen to CRAP FM?!" moaned Fiachra. He folded his arms and slid down in the chair.

"Because they hate us and they want us to _suffer_ ," said Fearghas, matter-of-factly.

Fiachra sighed and rummaged around in his bag for something to distract him, then suddenly he realised something. He jumped to his feet.

"Oh damn. I've left my copy of 'A Midsummer night's dream' in the English room. I'll be right back," he said.

"Okay," answered Fearghas, reclining on the chair.

Fiachra walked across the common room and down an adjoining corridor, past the library stairs on his way to the English department, humming a tune to himself. Then a voice came from behind him, a man's voice.

"I know what you are, bloodsucker," it said. Fiachra's eyes widened. He stopped dead in his tracks and took a couple of deep breaths. Someone knew. Someone knew about what happened to him every night. How could anyone know? What could they want?

'No, that's wrong!' he said to himself. 'I'm not.. am I?'

Deciding to play innocent, he turned his head around slowly to face his challenger and tried his best to look clueless.

"You what?"

The man was tall with very long blond hair scraped back in a high ponytail. His eyes were cruel, green. He wore a short beige-coloured coat lined with sheepskin.

"Don't play dumb with me, vampire," he warned, eyes narrowing threateningly.

"Who are you?" breathed Fiachra, concerned about where this conversation was going. The man reached out with his left hand, clamping his fingers tightly around Fiachra's throat and pushing him, almost slamming him up against the wall. Fiachra choked.

"My name is Phrixus. I'm here to kill you."

Fiachra was trapped, staring into the merciless eyes of the man named Phrixus, couldn't move, couldn't look away.. couldn't breathe. Phrixus dug his fingers into Fiachra's neck and squeezed tightly, pushing him up the wall and lifting him off his feet. He tried to scream, but it was stifled by the strangulation. Choking and gasping for air, he squeezed his eyes shut with the pain and flailed his arms blindly, looking for Phrixus's arm. Finding it, he gripped it tightly, trying to take some of his weight on it and relieve a little of the pressure on his neck. His feet scrabbled about, heels trying to find purchase on the wall, but to no avail. Tears spilled from his eyes and trickled down his face as he fought to turn his head and ease the pressure on his trachea. He was kicking now, desperate for air. He was struggling to cough. Phrixus had a stake in his hand, raised ready to plunge into Fiachra's chest.

Then there was a dull thud.

Phrixus fell sideways, his stake spinning across the floor. There stood Fearghas, a very heavy Japanese dictionary in his hands. He had swung the weighty tome as hard as he could into the side of Phrixus's head, stunning the man.

Fiachra had dropped wheezing to his knees. Fearghas grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him up onto his feet. He ran back through the common room, pushing past people, dragging his dazed and distressed brother behind him. Fleeing down another corridor, he grabbed the doorhandle of room 603- the Classical Civilisation classroom, shoving the red-faced Fiachra inside and hurriedly closing the door again and throwing the dictionary down on a table before pushing his twin up against the adjacent wall, out of sight.

"Shh," he whispered. They stood there a long while with their backs to the wall, anxiously looking towards the door, desperately hoping he wouldn't come this way.

Ten minutes later, what seemed like hours, Fearghas tentatively moved forward.

"I don't think he's coming. He might be gone by now," said Fearghas, checking through the door's thin window. "Who the hell was that guy?"

"I don't know! But he knows what I am, or he thinks he does, and he wants to kill me, Fearghas! You've gotta help me!" whimpered Fiachra hoarsely, grasping the front of his twin's shirt. Fearghas took hold of his hands and gently pulled them away.

"Alright, calm down, it's okay now."

Fiachra's eyes and face were still wet with tears; he was shaking. Fearghas sighed, not wanting to break his cool, aloof exterior by showing sentimentality, but not being able to stand seeing his brother upset like this. With the strong bond between the twins, it hurt him rather acutely. He gathered Fiachra into his arms, frowning slightly. "It's all right, I'll protect you." He rubbed Fiachra's back, and Fiachra buried his face in Fearghas' shoulder, sniffling quietly. "Fearghas.."

"It's okay.."

->^<-

The twins were sat on the edge of one of the tables now. Fearghas had his arm around his brother's shoulders and Fiachra was leaning into his side, a distant look on his face.

"He tried to drive a stake through my heart, Fearghas," he murmured, weakly.

"I know."

Fearghas tightened his fingers on Fiachra's shoulder slightly. They sat in silence for a time.

"We need to report this, get the police," Fearghas said.

"Something tells me they wouldn't believe it."

"Still.."

"Look, I'm.. I'm okay. If it happens again, then maybe I will. For now I just feel like it wouldn't be a good idea, you know?"

"Alright, if you say so. But if that man comes back and ends up hurting you, I'll kick both your arses."

Fiachra breathed out a soft laugh.

"Thanks, Fearg."

Do you want to go home?" said Fearghas softly.

"Yeah. It's only dinnertime though."

"It's Wednesday. We don't need to go to afternoon registration today, and we aren't needed at book club."

"Oh. Right. I totally forgot."

"Come on, let's go."

They usually spent their Wednesday afternoons chatting with the other club members about the books they had been reading, discussing literature and recommending things to each other. Sometimes they helped out in the library. Fearghas didn't think Fiachra could manage it after his experience.

Fearghas went to get their bags from the common room, then they snuck out the back way and made a break for the bus stop on the estate up the road.

As they passed behind the rear of the grounds, Fiachra stopped at one point, thinking he had seen someone move in the trees. He stood blinking a moment then continued walking, putting it down to lingering paranoia.

The boys had to catch two buses to get home. Altogether the whole journey could take about an hour, depending on how long they had to wait. After a while of travelling on the second bus, Fiachra began to come out of himself again, his shock and terror ebbing away with the humming engine and stuttered motions of the bus, comforted and protected by his brother's presence. Sometimes, he felt as though his mind and his spirit were 'leaning on' Fearghas, that by his being there, he was supported, everything was fine and he could relax. The tension eased off, his muscles no longer clenched.

"Did you get your homework done before?" he asked.

"Yeah, only took ten minutes," Fearghas replied.

"What did you do for the rest of the free then?"

"I was talking to someone. One of the new Russian exchange students. His name is Borislav, he's rather interesting."

"Oh aye? You _never_ say things like that about people- you must really like him.. D'you fancy 'im? Eh? Eh?!" Fiachra grinned and elbowed Fearghas in the ribs.

Fearghas growled. "Shut up!" Embarrassed by Fiachra's suggestion, he was nevertheless pleased that he was acting more his normal self now. He swatted ineffectually at his brother's arm, trying to look annoyed.

Fiachra looked up towards the sky as they walked home from the bus stop. It was endless deep blue, with nary a cloud in sight. He started deviating a little with his face pointing straight up, and Fearghas took hold of his arm to stop him listing to the right too much and ending up walking into the road.

"Sky looks nice today," he grinned cheerfully.

"Fiachra," said Fearghas. "I must say, I admire your ability to bounce back from such trauma in so short a time."

"Yeah, well, I reckon I cried most of it out before, and there's nowt to be gained from dwelling on stuff, right? I'd just work meself up. You just have to.. carry on, don't you?" he said. "And thanks for looking after me, Fungus!"

"Shut up, you fool. And you're welcome. Can we go home now?" he said, crossing the road.

Striding up the steps and pathway, past the Lavender that Fiachra cultivated and loved, and the blooming, fragrant Rosemary, they came to the heavy midnight-blue front door of number twenty-six. Taking out his keys and fighting with the lock, Fearghas managed to open the fearsome portal, and they entered with huge sighs of relief.

"Ye gods, what a day!" exclaimed Fiachra. Walking into the living room, he stopped dead at the sight before him, eyes wide. Naiad had again taken corporeal form, and was splayed leisurely across the couch reading a copy of Oedipus Rex which she had purloined from Fiachra's bookshelf. On the floor surrounding the couch were several empty glass bottles.

"NAIAD!"

She turned to face him.

"Er.. Hi."

"You drank all my juice!" he whimpered, sore at the loss of his supply. Fearghas poked his head round the door, rolled his eyes, then went upstairs.


	3. Amoroso

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a sample of the first few chapters. If you enjoy it, you can find the full thing here: https://www.lulu.com/spotlight/artemisarrow

##  _ Rune 3: Amoroso _

~Amorous, A lover (male)~

Borislav glanced out of the window as he made his way down the stairs towards the lab. It was a bright, cool morning and a slight breeze stirred the trees in the car-park. Pushing past the Year twelve Chemistry class who were clogging the corridor, he joined his Biology class at the other end. He stepped around the corner and leaned against the wall before the previous Chemistry class from the other lab began to spill out of the door, in a hurry to escape.

Fearghas left the Chemistry lab and stepped to the side, scanning the group crowding around the Biology room door until his eyes came to rest upon a head of blond hair at the back. He walked over and clapped a hand on his new friend's shoulder.

"Borislav, moy drug, dobroye utro!" (Borislav, my friend, good morning!)

Boris grinned "Dobroye utro, Fearghas."

The rest of the class were enthralled by this little conversation, even though they couldn't understand it, or more likely _because_ they couldn't understand it. The students of Biology 13A were highly excited by the fact that there were foreign exchange students in their class. This being only the second lesson the Russian students were taking part in with them, they were naturally still quite enthused and curious about their new classmates, and impressed by Fearghas's ability to talk to them in their own language. As well as Borislav, there was also a quite short lad by the name of Danik Pyotrovich Razhenko in their class- a somewhat hyperactive person with spiky hair. Borislav was acquainted with Danik and found him quite amiable. He was known by a few people as 'Hyperazhenko', and being a fan of le parkour ('free running') he enjoyed jumping off things, usually with painful consequences. Thus he had gained the reputation of being accident-prone. He was currently picking at a sticky plaster on his elbow that seemed to be bothering him. There was also, standing in the corner, a quiet brown-haired girl named Tatyana that nobody knew much about.

After a few minutes of rigorous questioning and requests for names to be written for people in Cyrillic, the class eventually left them to themselves again.

"So, what lesson did you just have?" asked Borislav.

"Hm? Oh, Chemistry," answered Fearghas.

"Who teaches that?"

"Mr Hodgekins," Fearghas replied, "our head of year. I had him for Chemistry last year too, he's a sort of bumbling absent-minded professor type. His jokes aren't that funny to be honest but he's a nice guy really."

Borislav chuckled. "Krutoy." (Cool.)

"Don't we have a practical today?"

"Аh, da. Aseptic technique and bacterial cultures."

"Oh, yeah, of course it is." Fearghas cleared his throat and seemed to suddenly find the corner of the ceiling utterly fascinating.

"Do you have a partner? Er, I.. I mean, do you have someone to work with?" His cheeks flushed pink in an almost noticeable way.

"Oh, no," answered Borislav. "Not yet."

The corner of Fearghas' mouth curled upwards a little.

"Want to work with me?"

"Okay," smiled Borislav.

So Fearghas and Borislav spent second and third periods culturing _Escherichia coli_ and assorted other bacteria together. They worked efficiently together and got on well, Borislav heating the nichrome loop to red heat in the Bunsen flame to decontaminate it at the appropriate times, Fearghas ready to seal and label the Petri dishes after transfer, then collect the next sample. They swapped round after a bit. The class had surprisingly few accidents, although at one point during a demonstration Miss Hampton accidentally set a large beaker of ethanol on fire in exactly the way that she had just warned the students to be careful to avoid. Danik also managed to melt the lid of one of the sample vials slightly in his haste. Luckily though, nobody managed to infect anyone else with anything. So really, it could only be called a success.

At the end, the two boys decided that Borislav should move to sit next to Fearghas permanently.

->^<-

Fearghas saw Borislav again during lunch. He was slouched on one of the plush red chairs in the common room with his legs crossed at the ankles, alone, fixedly scanning the words in the brown, leather-bound book he was holding. Fearghas strode up behind Borislav's chair, resting his hands on the back of it. Borislav was too engrossed in his book to notice Fearghas' presence. Fearghas smiled. He bent down from the waist, dropping his head to the same level as Borislav's.

"BORIS!" he said.

"Waah!" Borislav started violently, accidentally flinging the book behind him in his surprise.

Fearghas chortled softly and grinned a wide grin, picking the book up and passing it back to him. Borislav relaxed back into the chair.

"Oh, Fearghas. It is you. Hello."

"Are you doing anything right now?" he enquired.

"Well, I was just reading a book.." he began, not completely understanding the question.

"Good!" beamed Fearghas, "Come and have lunch with us!" Fiachra had appeared behind his brother out of nowhere and was grinning inanely.

"Oh, okay. I will go," said Borislav.

"Great! This is my twin brother, Fiachra, by the way."

"Hi! I'm in the same IT class as you." Fiachra waved a greeting.

"I am happy to meet you. I am Borislav. So you are twin? That is quite amazing! Very similar but different."

"Well, we're sort of non-identical twins," said Fiachra.

"Actually we're semi-identical, and we don't dress the same. And I prefer my hair shorter," added Fearghas.

"Semi-identical?" said Borislav, confused.

"Yes, I'll tell you about it later, if you're interested."

Borislav marked the page in his book and packed it away in his bag, then stood up and hoisted the strap of the black messenger bag over his head, adjusting it on his shoulder.

"Ready?" asked Fearghas. "Let's go!"

Fearghas took Borislav by the arm and gently tugged him forwards, with a small smile. The 3 boys left by the front doors and headed for the canteen, Fiachra stifling a snort at his normally reserved brother's excitement.

Fiachra's eyes darted nervously around the canteen, scanning through the madness for a glimpse of a blond ponytail and a sheepskin-lined coat. Fearghas sat beside him. Noticing Fiachra's anxious searching, he asked:

"Something wrong?"

"Nah, it's reet, just checking," answered Fiachra.

Finally, satisfied that the canteen was safe, he relaxed into the blue plastic chair and cleared his throat.

"So I hear you two met in the library."

"Yes, I just sort of went up and introduced myself," said Fearghas.

"Po-Russki!" (In Russian!) added Borislav, from his seat opposite Fearghas. "I was very surprised that you spoke Russian."

Fearghas grinned abashedly. "Oh.. well, I, er, I've always liked languages. I'm not very good." Fiachra detected a faint pinkish tinge in his brother's cheeks, and quirked an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth turning upwards ever so slightly into a hardly detectable cat-like smirk.

For a minute they just ate. Fiachra unwrapped a large cupcake and took a healthy bite. Fearghas seemed a bit preoccupied, staring discreetly at Borislav, engrossed. Absently, he thought to himself that the Russian's hair had a beautiful sheen.

"Oh, hey," exclaimed Borislav. "Have you been watching The Matthews enquiries?"

"What's that?" said Fiachra.

"It is a new TV programme about the paranormal. It is presented by a woman called Hope Matthews. She investigates things like ghosts and myths."

"That sounds interesting. From a purely psychological standpoint, I mean," remarked Fearghas.

Before the conversation could progress anywhere at all, Zen appeared seemingly from nowhere and strode up to the table carrying something small and metallic.

"Greetings, figments of my imagination," he announced.

"I submit to you that THIS.." he said, brandishing the pencil tin. "..is an apple!"

"Nah, dude, that's a pencil case," replied Fiachra.

"No, no! It is an apple! Language is not reality!!!" laughed Zen, as he began to walk away.

Borislav stared after Zen, looking puzzled.

"See, I don't even have to revise for my Psychology tests- he talks about that sort of weird stuff all the time," said Fiachra.

"They call him Zen. Nobody knows his real name. He's some sort of strange new-age hippy monk," Fearghas explained.

"Ah.." Borislav uttered, still looking somewhat bemused. "Why do they call him that?"

"Mostly because he tells them to. Like I said, he won't let anyone know what his actual name is. Even the teachers are sworn to secrecy. Interesting fellow."

"One day, I will attain a state of Nirvana because of that guy," said Fiachra. "Pretty much against my will, you understand. I mean, he's so utterly confusing, my brain cannot possibly stand it much longer, it's only a matter of time before I suddenly realise a zen state. I'm totally serious here."

"Well that's fine. As long as you come back to the real world so I don't have to bloody take care of you while you're catatonic," Fearghas grumbled.

"Aw, don't be like that, Sweetie!" whined Fiachra, wrapping himself around Fearghas's arm and nuzzling his shoulder.

"Get off me," he said, trying to wrest his arm back from Fiachra's limpet-like clutches. "You bleeding lunatic."

->^<-

Fiachra walked into the bedroom fresh from the shower. He sighed happily. A nice warm wash always made him feel better. He was already dried and dressed in his fleecy pyjamas. He was not expecting to tread in something cold and unpleasant.

"Naiad, are you leaving wet patches on the floor?" Fiachra said, incredulous. The Elemental had been snooping around their room for a while.

"Hey, shut up, I'm still getting used to this thing."

"What, your body?"

"Duh~!"

"True, I don't know how you can even walk on those fish tails."

"A lot more gracefully than you, you little twerp," she shot, mildly offended.

"Really? Little? You're like a couple of inches taller than me, if that."

"As if! It's at least four. How old are you?" she asked seriously.

"Seventeen. Why?"

She burst out laughing. " _I_ am as old as the very Earth.. and older."

"Wow, What anti-wrinkle cream do you use?"

"Child, I will destroy you," she growled dangerously.

"Nah, you think I'm too cute to destroy," he grinned.

She pouted her lips and glared, reaching up and squishing his cheeks together roughly.

"Yes, well, just watch I don't change my mind."

->^<-

Fearghas had a free period following afternoon registration a few days later. He loitered in the corridor a little while after he left the room, hoping to spot Borislav and accost him for some company. Borislav's form room was on the opposite side of the corridor and to the right as you were facing out. A couple of people came out of the door but it looked like they were the last. He stepped over and peered in through the window in the door. Alas, only the teacher was still there; he was nowhere to be seen. Fearghas figured he must have had somewhere to be. He sighed heavily and continued down the corridor to the stairs, dragging his feet.

He headed towards the art department, intending to spend a little while in the library. He thought he may as well go somewhere where there was peace and quiet to waste some time. Maybe catch up on his reading.

As he rounded the corner, he caught a flash of blond hair and stopped. Leaning over to look surreptitiously beyond the breezeblock wall, he realised he had found his friend after all. Fearghas did not move. Borislav was talking to an auburn-haired lad in a red woolly jumper. They were both smiling widely- Borislav looked happy, and they were conversing animatedly in Russian. Now they were laughing. Fearghas frowned as the impression came to him that the two looked comfortable together. The other young man had an arm around Borislav's shoulders.

Fearghas clenched his hands into fists, and turned stiffly to walk away.


	4. Acquaintance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a sample of the first few chapters. If you enjoy it, you can find the full thing here: https://www.lulu.com/spotlight/artemisarrow

##  _ Rune 4: Acquaintance _

~A person known to one, The state of being acquainted, Personal knowledge as a result of study or experience~

The morning sky was a pale icy blue, vast and empty but for a handful of thin straggly clouds. The emaciated crescent moon still hung on the edge of the horizon, cold and ghostly.

Fearghas walked back into the bedroom, barefoot, buttoning up his shirt. Fiachra stood in front of the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door, brushing his hair. He was almost getting used to cutting off each night's extra growth before he went to bed. The fact that it would then immediately disappear into thin air was still a little bit weird though. Yawning expansively, he put the brush down and stooped to slip his shoes on.

Fearghas stepped forward, business-like, doing up his cuffs, expression blank.

"Fearghas?"

Fearghas merely grunted in reply, pushing past his brother to grab his satchel.

"What's up, man?"

"Nothing," he said shortly, walking out of the room and heading downstairs. Fiachra blinked after him.

The air shimmered with a soft blue light for a moment and Naiad materialised in front of him, her skirts and hair billowing in an intangible mystical breeze.

'Is it weird that I'm starting to get used to that?' wondered Fiachra as he watched.

"Hey. Witch thing."

"Erm.. Yes? Hi?"

"Now really, why can't I go with you to school or whatever? It's sooo~ dull being left here all day long on my own!"

"Will you keep it down?! My dad's still in the bathroom, what if he hears you?!" Fiachra hissed.

"And that's another thing, I have to hide from everyone else around here, that is such a pain in the ar.."

"Alright, look, I have to go, we'll talk about it another time, 'kay?" he said, making a break for it.

"Hey, wait!" demanded Naiad, but Fiachra was already halfway downstairs and out of earshot.

The sound of the toilet flushing came from the bathroom, and Naiad huffed and atomised into a glistening cloud of water vapour, drifting in the air and settling in repose on the window panes, as condensation.

->^<-

Fearghas sat silently next to his brother on the bus. When Fiachra tried to catch his eye, Fearghas glared at him severely and turned to stare out of the window.

"If I didn't happen to know it was impossible, I'd say you fell out of the wrong side of the bed!" Fiachra joked.

"Leave me alone."

"Aw, don't be like that.." he said sadly.

Fearghas said nothing. Fiachra sighed into the awkward silence.

"You know, that was the most you've said all morning. What's wrong?"

"Drop it."

Fiachra squeezed Fearghas's arm briefly and leaned in to murmur softly into his ear.

"When you want to talk about it, come to me, okay? I can just listen."

With that, he turned to face forward and settled back into his chair. Fearghas gave no outward reaction, continuing to gaze out at the blur of the buildings as they passed by.

Fearghas spent the entirety of the Biology lesson attempting to act normally. He answered when Borislav talked to him, even smiled, but Borislav still noticed that he was quieter than usual and he could see past the smiles to the sadness in Fearghas's eyes. He was obviously distant and distracted, and Borislav voiced his concern. Fearghas didn't know what to do except fob him off with an excuse about being up late and having a lot of work to do.

->^<-

At breaktime, the twins met Aleksandr. They sat in their favourite corner of the common room, settled comfortably in the plush red chairs. Fiachra was flicking through his diary, trying to organise things in his mind. As Fearghas looked idly about the room, he spotted Borislav making his way towards them, with the auburn-haired boy from before in tow. He felt his guts clench a little. He suddenly felt very warm.

Borislav gave a bright greeting and made introductions.

"Sasha is my friend from school in Moscow," he explained.

"Hello!" he said, shaking hands with each twin in turn and smiling warmly. Fearghas immediately felt awful for his animosity towards the Russian, who was obviously a great guy.

This didn't exactly help his mood too much, only adding to his confusion. He tried however to come off as friendly or, at the very least, civil.

Aleksandr, or 'Sasha' as it was shortened to, had gentle hazel eyes that matched his pageboy-style chestnutty hair, and a largish nose that suited his face. His attire suggested a touch of class and refinement and his expression and general purport spoke of a good-natured and compassionate personality.

"Oh hey, aren't we in Classical Civilisation together, last lesson today?" Fiachra broke in, sitting up abruptly in realisation.

"Ah! Of course, that is where I recognise you from!" said Aleksandr.

And so they all got on famously, and Fearghas felt like a fake, hiding behind a mask, a façade. He felt like a chocolate with a gooey centre of miserable self-loathing.

By lunchtime he couldn't take it anymore. He accosted Fiachra and dragged him to an empty classroom without preamble. Fiachra knew his twin well enough to not even question this, and simply allowed himself to be propelled along. They settled into a corner. Fearghas had always felt comfortable in corners, with the two walls to lean on, although not always physically. He just felt happier being semi-enclosed by the solid walls, protected.

He sat staring at the whiteboard on the other side of the room, as if not looking at his brother would make everything easier to say. Perhaps it did.

"Fiachra, you know I'm gay, don't you?"

"Course I do," Fiachra smiled. Fearghas nodded to himself and let out a cleansing breath.

"Look, you won't hear me say this often, but you were right, okay? I feel something for him."

"So the reason you've been so upset.."

Fearghas didn't answer for a minute, hesitant. Fiachra took hold of Fearghas's hand to comfort him, and Fearghas let him.

"Yesterday. I saw Borislav with Aleksandr. I've realised I've been feeling.. confused. Jealous, maybe. I mean, it's ridiculous, we haven't known each other that long and I don't even know if he.."

"Likes guys?"

"Yes. Basically."

"Know what I think? You should do some stuff together, get to know him better, be his friend. Hey, in the future, who knows? I reckon you should let love happen as a natural progression, y'know? I mean Aleksandr probably really is just his best mate. Just relax, feel him out."

"I suppose so. Where do you get all this wisdom from anyway?"

Fiachra shrugged.

"I dunno, man. You think I could make a living out of it?"

"Heh, in the future, who knows?" echoed Fearghas, and smiled begrudgingly.

Fiachra patted his hand and chuckled softly.

"Eeeeh, see? You always tell me everything in the end, don't ya?"

Fearghas heaved a sigh and leaned into his brother's shoulder.

->^<-

Fiachra walked into the computer lab about ten minutes before the last lesson of the day started. There were a handful of students already there. Casting a glance around, he spotted Borislav in the corner, happily mucking about on the internet.

He dropped into the next seat, patting the Russian on the shoulder as he passed.

"Hello Borislav!" he said, cheerfully.

"Ah! Fiachra, how are you?"

"Aye, not bad, thanks. Yourself?"

"I am well, thank you."

Fiachra shifted round on his chair and leant on the backrest, making himself comfortable.

"So how are you finding things? Getting used to the place?"

"Yes, quite well, I think. Although I still became a little lost as I was looking for this room!" he smiled.

"Happens to the best of us!" Fiachra laughed.

They sat, intently typing, with the light of the computer monitors cast across their faces.

"Fiachra? I have been meaning to ask you a question."

"Yeah? What is it?"

"You and Fearghas, you are English, yes? How is it that you have Irish names?"

"Oh, wow," said Fiachra, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "I didn't realise you knew that. Well, our grandparents on our dad's side are Irish and we were born in Dublin, so they decided we should have Irish names. Technically the pair of us have dual citizenship as well."

"Ah, so you have lived here for how long?"

"Oh, all our lives near enough. After we were born, we came back to England straight away, as soon as the doctors said we could travel."

"Oh, of course, I understand," nodded Borislav. "So where is it that you live?"

"Kearsley, on the other side of town."

"Ah! Next to Farnworth!"

"You know it?"

"I am living now in Farnworth."

"No way! You should come round to ours sometime and hang out!"

Borislav grinned.

"Such a kind offer. I would be happy to."

"Actually, what are you doing on Saturday?" asked Fiachra.

"I do not have any plans."

"Great, you should come by then!" Fiachra said, pausing to lean in and lower his voice. "I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but Fearghas would be really happy to see you, trust me."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah, absolutely. Oh, but don't let on to him, okay?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Don't tell him you're coming, I mean. Then it'll be like a surprise, you see?"

"I see! How wonderful!"

"Here, let me draw you a little map.."

->^<-

Fiachra and Aleksandr walked out of the Classical Civilisation classroom, chatting amicably about the play they had been reading. There was only one other pupil in their class, which made for a very friendly and relaxed atmosphere. It was good to be a geek.

"Ahh, time to slink off home, eh Aleksandr?"

"Da, da. But you must call me Sasha."

"Sasha! That's lovely, that is. Kind of cute!" Fiachra grinned.

Sasha chuckled and patted Fiachra on the shoulder.

"I like you, you are silly!"

The building was mostly already deserted, with only one or two stragglers. It was Friday after all, and people wanted to get away as soon as they could. Borislav and Fearghas were waiting for them in the common room so they could leave together, and the two hurried in that direction, eager to get home.

A shadow passed across behind them. Fiachra looked round, but there was nobody there. His chest felt tight. He was sure he had felt the air move for a second there, but he couldn't see anything. He dismissed it as his imagination, shook his head and continued walking.

Sasha had put a fair distance between them without noticing that Fiachra had stopped. Fiachra pushed off his back foot and made to catch up. Everything whirled in front of his eyes as he was suddenly yanked sideways into the toilets and thrown against the opposite wall. The impact knocked the wind out of him and he crumpled to the floor. He gasped, trying to get his breath back and looked up at his assailant. He went cold as he saw the contemptuous glare Phrixus was shooting at him. The man advanced on him, menacingly, blocking the only route of escape. Fiachra threw up his hands placatingly.

"Er.. look, Phrixus, was it? You don't want to do this, okay? I'm not what you think!"

Phrixus faltered.

"What are you talking about, monster?" he ground out.

Before Fiachra could say any more, the door was flung open and Sasha flew in, pressing a fencing sabre up against Phrixus's back.

"Don't move!" he shouted. "Fiachra, go! Get the others, I will meet you outside!"

Fiachra scrambled to his feet.

"But..!"

"Go!"

He barrelled out without further protest.

"Against the wall, please," said Sasha. "Do not turn around."

Phrixus followed the instructions with a growl, facing the wall. After a minute of silence, he turned back to find Sasha gone.

Sasha found the others waiting for him outside the gate. Borislav caught him by the arm, looking worried.

"Are you alright?"

"I am fine. What about you, Fiachra? Were you hurt?"

"No, no. Fearghas just had a look at me, I'm bruised but I'll live. Let's get out of here," he said, dragging them towards the bus stop.

"Wait, doesn't your sword thing have like a cap on the end so it's not dangerous?" Fiachra asked as they hurried along.

"Yes, the button. On a fencing sabre the tip is folded over to blunt it, but he did not know that."

"Lucky."

"It was, indeed. I was going to put it in my locker before leaving."

"I'm glad you didn't."

"So am I," added Fearghas.

"Me too," breathed Boris.

"Who is that man? Why did he attack you?" enquired Sasha.

"Err.."

"We don't know," Fearghas cut in. He had his arm around Fiachra's waist, fingers clutching his shirt tightly.

->^<-

A light mist rolled through the cool night air. There was little light as the moon was mostly hidden by clouds. Shadows slid here and there, moving as softly as ghosts, caressing the walls and paving stones, disappearing into windows to reappear on linoleum flooring. A soft, chill breeze ruffled the spindly branches of the small trees. A figure slipped across the roof, long jacket billowing, hair whipping in the wind. A skylight was prised open, and the figure dropped through.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sample of the first few chapters. If you enjoy it, you can find the full thing here: https://www.lulu.com/spotlight/artemisarrow


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